Who's There?
His face. His hands, his body... his lips. Oh god, his lips. The only thing that was different to look at him was how he carried himself. That was different. That was something he hadn't thought could be so noticeable, but it was. How he stood, how the expressions fit his face, how he looked back at him from clear, blue eyes - all just different enough to make the entire thing seem eerie.
But he couldn't deny how much he wanted him anyway. When he closed his eyes all he felt was the old familiar desires tugging at him, his senses filled with the scent that had engulfed him so often in the past. His voice was the same, yet his manner of speaking different, his accent a little off. It had been unsettling at first, but after a while he had grown used to it.
When lips caressed his skin, he could almost pretend. When their bodies pressed against one another, he could have forgotten for a moment...
The only thing he hadn't grown used to was the new name. Even with all the subtle differences, even with the jarring contrast between the alien and the familiar, even with a head full of knowledge of what had happened, calling him by a different name was just too much to change all at once. He would just have to put up with it for a while.
He knew there was something else that would be different, too. Style. Technique. Preference. It would be hard to get used to a whole new manner of doing things; hard to get used to the same body but different responses, the same face with different desires.
"That feels good," he moaned, his fingers moving in short brown hair, gripping and releasing. Part of him wondered if this was right, or just so wrong he couldn't even begin to comprehend it. It did seem to violate some moral code that he could not quite put his finger on, but at the same time, he was having a hard time thinking of anything behind the strong hands and warm lips on his body.
"Are you ready?" the words breathed passed his ears and sent shivers up his spine. The voice of one, the words of another. He gave a ragged exhale and nodded, grateful at least that it was understood what he was going through, what bizarre twists he had to make to his mind to grasp the reality that had been dumped on him. It was a kind of upside down shift that most people would never in their lifetime experience, and only a very, very few would be able to understand at all.
He was on his stomach now, groaning and panting as he was filled and fucked and loved and taken. His eyes were squeezed shut, yet it didn't entirely block out the contradiction between who was really doing this to him.
"God, Maine," he groaned. The other faltered and he cursed himself inside. "Fuck.. Church..."
It was Maine's hands, but Church's touch. Maine's voice, but Church's words. Maine's body, but Church was the one making love to him. And yet he knew the only reason that this was happening at all was because they were one, now. He knew it was the blending that made this possible, and a moment later he felt tears wetting his cheeks as he realized just how much Maine had really loved him. So much so it had forced its way through eight other minds to take the forefront of desire. Even the way Church fucked him reminded him of Maine.
He didn't know if Maine even existed anymore, not in his mind. Clearly enough had remained that Church was finding it impossible to keep his hands off him, but was that the same as some conscious mental faculty, or was it just Maine's base desires bleeding through the mind that had taken over?
It wasn't really having Maine back. It was his body, and he realized it was even most of his love, but it wasn't Maine. He didn't notice that he was still silently weeping as Church took him. Choked through his tears when Maine's hand wrapped around him. Cried as he cried out when they both released and Wash spilled all over Maine's hand and the bed.
But it wasn't Maine. It wasn't Maine who held him and kissed him and told him it was alright. It wasn't Maine who wrapped around him and didn't let go as the sobs wracked him. It wasn't Maine who fell asleep beside him. But it was still Maine he dreamed about.
Even Wash couldn't decide which one of them he was being unfair to. In the end, he figured it was probably himself who was most being screwed by this whole situation. No one should have to deal with this kind of mind-fuck. But in the end, he knew he'd stay, because he wanted them both so bad he couldn't bring himself to walk away, even if he knew he'd never really have either.